Moments
by keeponwritin
Summary: "Of course that will gradually fade with time, and Kurt will float back to earth, back to the reality in which they're both just two teenage boys and they have their flaws, but they love each other regardless. For now, though, it's the honeymoon phase."


A/N: So, hi there. I'll keep this simple: this is my first Glee fanfic, i.e., my first time writing in a brand new fandom in eight years. It's a drabbly and somewhat plotless one-shot, but, oh, hey, that's most of my stories. This one has the added bonus of being waaay fluffier than anything I usually write. I just have a lot of feelings.

I wrote this kind of because it was on my mind, but also, in a way, to test the waters. I'll keep it real: I'm at an age where I desperately crave validation, and reviews are great motivation to keep writing (to keep on writin'… ha ha… ha… ha.) I have this idea for a multichaptered Kurt story, but if no one cares, I should probably maybe put my college degree to use and get a job instead of writing fanfiction.

This is dedicated to my friend KT. Maybe this will make her finally catch up on Glee.

Set in late season 2.

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The love is new, and it's precarious.

It was so natural that first time, getting swept up in its grandiose quality. The speech, the suddenness of it all—Kurt thinks back to that first kiss and briefly wonders if he fell for Blaine _because_ it was an exact reenactment of the fantasies of romantic gestures he'd had for years. But then he'll look up and catch Blaine's eye for just a nanosecond, only to be met with the faintest of smiles, and it becomes quickly clear that he doesn't even need the grand-scale declarations of feelings.

It's one thing to have his first boyfriend, but it's a different thing altogether to live in the same building as him, to see him nearly every hour of every day. In study hall, at meals, at the library, at Warblers practice. He spent his entire school year the year before planning out how to bump into Finn between classes just to catch a glimpse and deliver a subtle compliment and hope for a lengthy conversation; here, he ends up running into Blaine when he's not even trying to. They don't have any classes together, so it's nice to catch up mid-day, but every time it happens, Kurt can't help but feel like he's the terribly awkward boyfriend he'd wanted to avoid being. Blaine will just start recounting some story from class and Kurt will just stand there smiling a lot and laughing along, or Blaine'll start talking about strategies for the Warblers for next year and Kurt will do his wide-eyed bushy-tailed serious face and nod a lot. Then Blaine'll realize he's been talking too much and let Kurt take the floor, and Kurt won't have any clue what to say—_Kurt_, who always has _something_ to say about someone, or someone's fashion, or someone's terrible life choices, finds himself completely at a loss. He's sure if it keeps up, Blaine will dump him for being so uninteresting.

But it's just the newness of it, the newness of even having a boyfriend to call his own. Six months ago, he was just starting to cope with the idea of being alone for the rest of his high school career, and was ready to focus every inch of himself on boosting his resume for NYADA—at least, someday, when he was living in his own apartment in Hell's Kitchen, he'd have met more than three gay guys in his life ever, so would at least have the option of not being alone, if he so chose. Now he finally had someone who understood, someone who cared, and he'd forgotten what it was like to have good things happen to him.

It's new for Blaine, too, of course, but it never feels like it to Kurt. Blaine brings him his grande nonfat mocha (sometimes a double grande nonfat mocha) when he knows Kurt has an essay due the next day. Blaine sends him a text message good night when it's after lights out and they're both back in their dorms. It's like he's some perfect boyfriend robot sometimes, and it's hard to believe it's the same boy who was practically oblivious to Kurt's feelings just two months prior.

Blaine does have faults.

… That's sort of Kurt's mantra a lot of the days of the week. "Blaine does have faults." He knows it's true, but it probably isn't worth much when the only one he can think of most of the time is Blaine's need to be in the spotlight, and even that doesn't seem all that…. fault-y., and he winds up spinning it in his mind to be indicative of Blaine's drive and perseverance, two qualities he finds very attractive in a person.

Though, truthfully, he's been blindsided at least twice this week by the realization that he doesn't know Blaine as well as he thought he did, that six months is not enough time to know every little thing about a person. Sure, he knows Blaine's birthday, his coffee order, his fear of needles, his love of football, his Zodiac sign—but then he'll wake up one day and realize: he doesn't know Blaine's favorite movie. Then he'll wake up another day and realize: he doesn't know if Blaine's ever broken any bones. It seems insignificant to most, but to Kurt, it's weird to not know his own boyfriend's life story, to not even know half of it. For all he knew, Blaine could have been created in a laboratory just a few months prior and dropped into an all-boys' boarding school in Ohio just in time to belt some Katy Perry, work some typical synchronized cappella group choreography, and melt Kurt's heart. It seemed as likely as anything else that had happened in his life lately.

But, for instance, not knowing Blaine's parents? Strange. Blaine had managed to already, even before they'd begun dating, build congenial bridges between himself and Burt, albeit awkwardly. Kurt still has seen nary more than 2 pictures of Blaine's family, ever. _That's _weird. One time, Blaine tried to explain the family dynamic to him, and it was hard to comprehend, leaving Blaine frustrated and flustered, plastering that smile on his face and politely asking if they could change the subject. Their relationship is still in its infancy, so Kurt isn't about to go rocking the boat by being pushy. From what he gathers, the Andersons love Blaine, enough to want to protect him, to dole out the cash to keep him safe from bullies. But despite all the trauma of bullying and harassment, they still don't really 'get' it. They continue to wonder why their son is choosing this life for himself, and they live in denial that it's more than just a passing phase. His dad is the one that more actively thinks he can just wish his son's gay away, while his mom just keeps her mouth shut. It's foreign to Kurt—his dad hasn't always understood it, but he's always accepted it—but at the same time, he knows there are people who have even worse than the two of them, who kick their children out and pretend they never existed.

Then again, maybe sending Blaine to Dalton doubles for a way to send him off and not have to see him. Kurt goes back to Burt and Carole's every weekend; Blaine never even talks about visiting home.

But again. It's precarious.

Blaine is a master of etiquette, a beacon of polite "please"s and "thank you"s, but Kurt already knows he can be riled up when the subject hits too close to home, and Kurt's not going to ruffle any feathers. Mocking Blaine's sexual identity crisis and pointing out Blaine's spotlight-hogging was all well and good a week ago, or two weeks ago, when he was still riding on Blaine's "let's be friends" wave, and was, admittedly, still a little bitter over the events of GAPocalypse 2011. That Blaine, he was sure, was not into him and never would be. That Blaine would always just be his one gay confidante in Lima, and he'd slowly, but never fully, learn to get over him. Now 'that Blaine' is 'this Blaine,' and 'this Blaine' is 'his boyfriend,' and 'his boyfriend' is someone he's terrified of offending. Of course that will gradually fade with time, and Kurt will float back to earth and drag Blaine down there, too, back to the reality in which they're both just two teenage boys and they have their flaws, but they love each other regardless.

For now, though, it's the honeymoon phase.

Kurt's been staring into the mirror for twenty minutes straight, adjusting his shirt, adjusting his silk scarf. Even dabbing on some foundation because ugh, he's just gotten so used to the abundance of natural lighting at Dalton, and he'd almost forgotten how harsh and fluorescent the lights at McKinley can be. He wonders if he should be wearing more layers. Or maybe less? No, probably more.

There's no doubt in Kurt's mind at this point that he is Blaine's boyfriend, and vice versa—he'd had to confer with other Warblers just to be certain, but he's sure. Still, they're stuck in _some_ kind of limbo, in which they've gone out plenty, but they hadn't yet been on what Kurt would consider a… well, "real" date. Breadstix dates are lovely (he really does love that place more than he'd care to admit), and maybe his absence on the weekends is a problem, but he'd always hoped for a little more. He was a sucker for anything with candlelight and a rich burgundy tablecloth. A freshly cooked meal would be nice, or maybe just a nicely packed picnic lunch under a gazebo.

A minute later, a knock comes at his door, and he swings it open. Blaine's no Mr. Darcy or Rhett Butler even on a good day—this is, after all, the boy who thought a Robin Thicke song would make a romantic serenade. But today, tonight, he's not even in his blazer, which Kurt has decided is both alluring and offputting. No, instead, he's in charmingly plain clothing, with that touch of class via brown pea coat, and he's lifting up two Chinese takeout boxes near his face and smiling. Chinese takeout is really not Kurt's favorite, and he knows the smile is supposed to make up for it. Kurt is very used to berating people for getting things wrong, having done it his entire life (it's a good defense mechanism). He's pretty polite to the few people he loves, but even Chinese food brought home by his dad would always result in that dissatisfied expression smeared across his face. But Blaine knows what he's doing—they'd just had this conversation last week, with Kurt saying that Chinese food makes him sick, leading Blaine to break out into the chorus of "Summer Girls" while Kurt smirked and rolled his eyes and kept talking about how he'd only eat lo mein. Sure enough, Kurt takes the box from Blaine, pops it open, and there it is. Lo mein.

"I thought I'd bring you a little dinner before we head over there." Blaine is still standing in the doorway beaming, proud of his little joke.

Kurt involuntarily laughs. Out loud, even. It's a small laugh—maybe classified as a chuckle—but Kurt's never been much of a guffawing kind of guy anyway. He's not even sure what he's laughing at. Maybe Blaine being cheeky, or maybe the fact that Blaine _had_ actually heard the end of his Chinese food rant despite the crooning he was doing during it. All he's really sure of is that the laugh takes him aback for a second, because he realizes he hasn't heard himself laugh in so long. He's grateful for his dad, and Carole, and Finn, and all of the glee club back at McKinley, and the Warblers. And he's proud of himself for pushing through the past few months and not just silently taking the abuse anymore. But without the boy in front of him, whose grin has died down to just his usual adoring gaze, to kick him into action, he's not sure where he'd be.

The love is still new, and it's still precarious. Kurt's still freaked out at the idea of just… kissing someone, just laying one right on them, even with the one person with whom it'd be perfectly acceptable. So they just wind up leaving the door slightly ajar, and sitting on the carpet Indian style while they eat. The conversation is still light. Blaine talks about math class, Kurt talks about Finn and Rachel's love life. They both talk about Kate Middleton, then it turns into to a discussion about New Directions, which becomes Blaine strategizing for the Warblers for next year, from which Kurt has to talk him down. They already talk like old friends, but Kurt occasionally worries that the romance just isn't coming naturally.

But he's mid-chewing, thinking about how noodles were impossible to eat gracefully, putting his chopsticks back into his box, when he happens to glance up to meet Blaine's eyes. Blaine doesn't look immediately away, and Kurt momentarily panics, thinking he must have something on his face, but Blaine just keeps looking, with that soft hint of a smile on his face that seems to encompass compassion and pride and admiration and adoration all in one. Kurt's expression turns to bemusement, because he doesn't know a single other person who does this—and frankly, he's not even sure what "this" is—but he smiles genuinely back, and a second later, Blaine's jumping straight back into discussing William's receding hairline, and the party they absolutely must have on the eve of the wedding.

For now, they're still figuring each other out. For now, it's just the little things.


End file.
